Chapter One: Introduction
Stars and space dust streaked in and out of the transparasteel viewport as the Unstoppable Force slipped through the all-encompassing embrace of subspace. In his ready room, sitting comfortably at his desk, Admiral Bua'tu gazed at technical specifications for the new Titan class battle cruiser with the concentration and single-minded determination that had allowed him to gain his rank at such a young age, and marveled once more at the extraordinary ship. Ever since that archaeological excursion in the K'Vorch rift found whatever it did, technology had progressed by leaps and bounds, advancing modern Civilization hundreds of years in the time it took him to graduate from the Naval Academy. Whatever they had found, it had made this ship possible. It had made his ship possible. Yes, Admiral Bua'tu was being assigned the first Titan, to be named the Adversary's Atrophy. This ship was going to win the war for them. This ship was going to restore order to the Galaxy. They had been saying this for the past 150 years, but this time, Bua'tu thought, would be different. With this ship as the Flagship of the fleet, the Galactic Alliance would systematically crush the illegitimate authority that had so presumptuously claimed almost half the galaxy. Their methods were numerous; subvert a system here, force a consortium to succeed there, wrest power from a wealthy businessman in yet another hostile takeover, and you have a well- funded, brutal enemy that can take whatever you dish and give it right back. They were bred to be the perfect soldiers, too; cold, calculating, without mercy. They weren't afraid to execute a tactical retreat, but neither did they balk at fighting to the last man. They were a force for destruction, and Bua'tu would have a direct role in bringing their downfall. Of that, he was certain.
As he sat there basking in the soft glow of his computer terminal, his thoughts drifted towards his family. It wasn't his carreer that drove him, nor his pride, as many other Admirals. It was his family, and the need to provide a safe and united galaxy for his children. His two kids, Charlotte and Andrew, would be so much older than when he last saw them three long years ago. Charlotte would be 14, Andrew 12. How he had missed them. But this was unproductive; thinking about being with his family would not make it so, only the determination to win at any cost, the cold, calculating logic that had so served him over the years. He buried those feelings of longing, focusing on the task at hand, but with renewed vigor. He would demand out of it everything this ship could give him, and perhaps more. He allowed himself a small smile, a side of himself the crew never saw. Perhaps these thoughts of his family were not completely unproductive.
A two-toned chime sounded over the speakers hidden craftily in the mahogany wood, and Bua'tu depressed a button.
"Bua'tu here," he said, as all thoughts of anything but the task at hand were not so much pushed as ordered to the back of his mind, then forced to lay down in the mental obscurity he was so used to implimenting in all but the most relaxed and private of situations.
"Admiral, this is the bridge; we are five minutes from space station Immovable Object, there to transfer to Adversary's Atrophy and stand by to await further orders. Shall we halt the proceedings until you are able to join us on the bridge?"
"That won't be necessary," Bua'tu stated. "I'm on my way now."
"Very good, sir," the voice replied. "We shall commence as planned, then."
"Very good, Ensign. Bua'tu out." He hit the button that would end the transmission, then saved what notes he took for further review to a removable storage device he kept on his person. He then deftly flicked a few buttons that powered down his console. No sense wasting war materiel, no matter how seemingly trivial.
The war, as they said, was not over yet.
Admiral Bua'tu strode onto the bridge with the confidence that suggested a man used to having his orders carried out. And indeed he was. With a back so straight as to make the bulkheads jealous and a sharp tone that conveyed the message that he was not quite mad, only slightly irritated that he would even have to give the order, he managed to keep the crew on their toes. He listened as the helmsman recited minute course corrections; compensating for the rotation of the space station, docking orders, port thrusters 1/4 power, all the mundane things one has to deal with when piloting a space vessel. Bua'tu did not live for the mundane, nor did he make it a practice to accomidate it. "Extending docking clamps," the ops officer announced to no one in particular. "All systems green; engineering reports thrusters fully functional."
"Very good," Bua'tu said. "Now let's see what happens when Unstoppable Force meets Immovable Object." A ripple of laughter ran through the bridge crew at the reference to the ancient paradox, a welcome break to the silence that had enveloped the bridge just moments before. The crew was anxious to see their new ship. That was fine, just as long as they weren't excited. Excitement made you rush; made you miss things. Bua'tu expected perfection, and it was rare that his crew did not meet his expectations. Hand picked from all parts of the galaxy, graduates from the naval academy and military corps both, the result was a diverse, yet tight-knit crew willing and able to work under pressure; skilled in deep-space, aerial, and landside combat, this was indeed the finest crew in the fleet. As they should be; the flagship should have only the best.
"Attention all crewmembers, this is your Captain speaking. We have now docked at space station Immovable Object; commence personnel and cargo transference to the Adversary's Atrophy. And remember, people, even as we speak, our comrades are fighting and dying out on the front lines. The sooner we get out there, the sooner this tarking war will be at an end." It was rare, even unheard of, for Admiral Bua'tu to swear even amongst his closest friends, which is why the implication of swearing to the entire crew was so evident.
With the close of this war, nothing would quite be the same again.